A Short Conversation
by Carmelle Kisses
Summary: Just a short conversation between Lydia and the Nogitsune in Insatiable (3x23). One-shot. Some definite Stydia tones. AU.


The slight sound, echoing softly through the halls, repeating over and over, kept her mind racing all through the night. She couldn't exactly tell where is was coming from, the endless concrete maze around her was unfamiliar and she sat, alone and confused with a - probably - broken leg (it wasn't confirmed yet) at the bottom of some stairs, that led to - who knows where. But she could hear it, as if she hadn't turned the dial on the sink all the way off, and thus the water began accumulating at a slow, torturous pace before finally just dripping off and landing in the sink with a splat. It was something that could drive a person in her situation mad.

She took a few deep breaths in an attempt to clear the air in her head. She placed her palms flat beside her, ignoring the constant pain she felt in her leg. She held it as still as possible. If she moved it, the sharp jolt would run up her nerves in an entirely unpleasant way. One leg stretched out, the other bent upwards at the knee. Her heels had long since been discarded somewhere here or there. She, despite all her misery, felt an odd sense of calm in this moment. A sense she hadn't felt in such a long time.

But, quickly as the serenity came, it vanished and in its place a deep sense of foreboding rooted. The constant echoing of the chamber she was held in allowed her to hear the deep humming. It was an unfamiliar tune, one she'd probably never heard before or would hear again. Possibly one that had gotten lost with time, a forgettable piece in a long history of music. But he'd be able to know such things as forgotten pieces of music.

Maybe he composed it himself. Maybe that was the sort of thing the immortal did on his down time, in between murdering innocent deputies and kidnapping teenaged girls.

She'd chuckle at her incredibly stupid joke if she had the energy.

The humming began to increase in volume and her entire body tensed in anticipation.

All at once, in an abrupt motion, the sound stopped - the humming, not the dripping water - and he appeared before her, body standing at the top of the stairs beside her.

He sighed with a sickening smile, and stepped down to her with confidence she'd never seen those particular limbs move with. "Giving up your fight already, Banshee?" Before he reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped, sitting above her. There was silence for a while. Only the sound of her breathing and the tapping of his fingers against the concrete (and of course the soft plipping and plopping of water somewhere in the distance). She refused to look at it, instead turning her gaze to her filthy hands.

Once upon a time, they had been perfect. Nails filed into even crescents, she'd never be seen without a fresh coat of polish on them. Her cuticles cut and oiled. Her skin soft and smooth. Now? The nails had black gunk - she didn't even know what it was - under, around, and on them. They were chipped. Her cuticles were unclipped. Her skin was rough and dirty.

The sad thing was, it had been a long while since she did any of those things. Even before she was kidnapped, she couldn't bother with a coat of nail polish or the time consuming process of lotioning her skin after a long, hot shower. It'd been - months? A year? - since she had the time to do any of the stuff she used to do to relax.

It was such an utter disappointment. She'd probably die before she could ever get the chance to relax again, take a long hot bath -

"Something bothering you?" He looked down at her, eyebrows drawing in way that expressed concern in an overly exaggerated way. He pouted - actually pouted and the exhaled slowly. "I guess I shouldn't have broken your leg, it was so much more entertaining to watch you scamper all around looking for a way out… now you just sit here. It's _sad_ really." ( _Now_ it was confirmed.) His body scooted closer and she squeezed her eyes shut to prepare. He trailed the back of his forefinger along her cheek.

He always _touched_ her. And it bothered the hell out of her. And he knew it.

The caress continued down her lips, slowly, achingly slow.

She wouldn't open her eyes.

She felt a soft breath against the side of her face, delicate, airy, right before the words met her ear, "Why have you given up?"

The brush of his hand stopped its trail at her neck.

She tried to prepare because she knew what he was going to do. She _knew_ -

But it was so sudden, and it still knocked her breath away.

All at once, one hand was around her throat and the other was clawing at her thigh.

She couldn't help the loud scream that made its way out of her. The pain was overwhelming. Her hands sought out something to grip. They landed on his shoulders somehow, and she held onto him, attempting not to begin crying.

She couldn't keep her eyes closed anymore.

And she _looked_ at him. And it felt like so long, but it could only have been a few seconds. His irises were black, and she could see the black veins trailing up the arm that was latched onto her throat and disappearing into his skin. For the shortest of moments, she didn't feel anything, and it was a welcome relief, but soon after it all came back and she was screaming again, sobbing because it was so much worse than before. So much worse. And she couldn't think straight. Couldn't do anything but take it. But she could. She could, this was a challenge. He was challenging her.

And it made her angry.

So instead of her pain, she focused on her anger, focused on this thing that was currently latched to her, focused on how much she wanted to _kill_ it.

He smiled through his pleasure and shook his head sadly.

No, it wasn't anger.

So, she closed her eyes again. She could do this. She could do this.

So she focused on Stiles. Not the demon feeding off her, no, that wasn't _Stiles_.

And the calm swept over her again.

He let go of her and smiled at her with something akin to admiration in his eyes.

"You finally get it now, don't you?"

She nodded her head, and her grabbed her face roughly with his blood covered hand. His smirk made her insides tangle unpleasantly.

"So tell me what it is, tell me who you were thinking about." Her head jolted away from him and her eyes watered, her answer was a clear resounding 'no'. She tried not to notice the metallic smell of her own blood but it was right under her nose. "But you did it, Lydia." He spat her name out with a sort of manic laugh. "You made me stop and I don't even get to understand why? I don't think that's completely fair." The damn pout was back.

"You'll kill him."

"Him?" He smiled, "Well, that's a start I suppose." He stood up and began pacing, chest out and hands behind his back.

"Him? So it's love then? You're in love with your anchor?"

She pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut again.

"So, the question that needs to be answered is, who is it exactly that Lydia Martin loves?" The tears began leaking out of her eyes then. Because he knew, just like he always did. "The thing is," He stepped beside her and crouched next to her crumpled form and she rested her head against the knee of her good leg. "- and correct me if I'm wrong - but I was in Stiles' body for a long time. Not long enough to have experienced that kiss that he thinks of so fondly, no. But, I was there for every single look. Every single touch." He began whispering, in his demented way. "Every… _dream_. Every fantasy. - And believe me, he's had many." His caressing came back, he'd brush back her hair, tuck it behind her ear. He'd stroke her cheek with his thumb. He'd turn her head towards him. Let his breath touch her lips. Her neck. Never his lips though.

"He thinks about that day a lot. About the fact that you're his anchor. That if anybody in that room could've brought him back, that it would've been you… of course it would've been you. You two, have your… connection. _Unspoken_ , of course.

"You love him then? You love _Stiles_?" He laughs, actually laughs this time. She would too. In any other circumstance. Because it's true. Of anyone, anyone for her to be in love with, it was _Stiles Stilinski_? "That's the thing Lydia, it's not often someone has an anchor that strong for _love_. And if they do, it's most certainly not the same for their anchor, usually, it's family. Blood-ties."

He smiles and says softly into her ear, "Well, that's not problem then. That's easy. He's dead already. Or, well, it'll only be a matter of time." And with that he gets up in his graceful way and she's left alone again, trying not to focus on that sound, far off in the distance.

" _What are the voices telling you? Are they saying that Stiles is dying? He is, you know. He's dying."_


End file.
